


the same in any language

by dollylux



Series: As Red As Love [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Punk, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Childhood Trauma, Comfort Sex, Emotional Threesome, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, POV Natasha Romanov, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After saving Bucky from a traumatic experience, she brings him home to Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the same in any language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltandbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/gifts).



> Set about three years before ARAL starts. This story starts to untangle the complicated relationship between Nat, Steve, and Bucky.

Bucky has a job.

It’s a huge deal, something that Steve and Natasha still get emotional about if they talk about it for any length of time, but they try their best to play it cool, to act calm about it, like it isn’t some life-changing thing.

But it is.

It’s only a part-time job, working for twenty hours a week stocking books at Here’s a Book Store. Steve got him the job through a friend of a friend, and he can spend his time wearing his hoodie and his headphones, lost in his own little world while he gives books homes on shelves that he dusts himself, careful and methodical after all the books are in their rightful places.

Bucky is on disability, has too many issues to get through most days in one piece, but staying at home all day has been driving him up the walls, driving him into darker and darker bouts of depression that make Steve sometimes afraid to go to school or to work.

It’s seven blocks from the apartment, and Natasha tries her best to walk home with him on most nights, meeting him at the store and easing quietly down the street, their shoulders pressed, headphones connecting their ears as they listen to the same song.

Her lowlife, pervy boss at the restaurant gives her shifts close to Bucky’s whenever it’s possible, as long as Natasha gives him an all-access pass to her tits. She’s done more for less, so she just grits her teeth, closes her eyes, and lives through it like she does everything else.

 

One rainy night in April, she hurries out of the restaurant, still wearing her apron and run-walking the few blocks between the book shop and the restaurant. None of them can afford cell phones, and she hadn’t gotten a break to call Bucky at work to let him know she’d be running late and wouldn’t be able to meet him after work for their walk home.

The lights are off at the bookstore when she finally makes it, and a weird feeling of dread settles heavy in her stomach.

 _He’s fine_ , she tells herself, shaking her head at her own dramatics and slowing her pace as she continues up the street, towards home. 

Three blocks from their rat-trap apartment, she hears something that makes her stop dead in her tracks. There’s a scuffle in the alley she’s nearing, a struggle between a piece of shit and probably somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Her whole body tenses, hands folding into fists in her pockets.

And then she hears him.

“Bucky,” she barely breathes, her brain shutting down in unbridled terror before she starts awake, taking off at a dead run for the alley, her heart hammering in her throat.

Two guys have Bucky pinned to the dirty brick of the building, one of them holding his arms up while the other digs around on his person, hands getting shoved into pockets, under his shirt, apparently looking for money.

Natasha sucks in the deepest breath she can hold and lets red fill her vision, pure hatred driving her forward to grab onto the guy grabbing at Bucky’s body and pulling as hard as she can to yank him off.

“Bitch, what the fuck do you think you’re--”

Natasha curls her shaking hand into a fist, thumb on top, and punches the guy square in the throat. He curls forward with a sob, coming right down to eye level which gives her the perfect position to drive the heel of her hand straight up into his nose, breaking it with a sickening crack that she hears even over his scream. She grabs him by the shoulders and looks straight into his tear and blood stained eyes as she brings her knee right up into his dick, feeling his balls smash against her kneecap.

She lets him go and he falls to the ground, curling up around himself and crying like a little fucking girl, like she did when she was five.

She sneers at him and looks up at the guy still pinning Bucky to the building who is watching her in absolute horror. Bucky is shut down, clocked out, his eyes far away as blood drips from his busted mouth, one of his eyes swollen from a mean right hook. 

Natasha turns her now calm green eyes onto the remaining guy who is shaking his head, letting go of Bucky’s wrists and stepping back with his hands held up in surrender.

“I-I didn’t wanna do it! It was all Leo’s idea, I didn’t even wanna _be_ here--”

Her right hook is meaner than Leo’s, she’s sure, when it lands on the kid’s face, the delicate bones of his cheek crack under the force of the massive silver ring on her middle finger.

He stumbles back, clutching his face and staring at Natasha like she’s the actual devil.

“Get your girlfriend and get the fuck out of here, or I’ll pull my goddamn knife out,” she tells him, her voice low with a very real threat.

“You’re a fuckin’ _monster_!” he screams at her, hurrying past her to grab Leo up around his pits, Leo who is half-conscious and moaning as he’s dragged from the alley.

“I’ll be watching you, motherfucker!” she screams right back, her voice breaking off at the end in white-hot fury. She has half a mind to go after them, to knock them both out until they piss their pants and wake up when Guitar String Larry shuffles by in a couple of hours. But. But _Bucky_ \--

“Bucky,” she gasps, wiping the blood from her knuckles off on her apron and hurrying over to her sweet boy.

His eyes are nearly closed now, his head down, headphones draped around his trembling shoulders, and he’s mumbling so soft Natasha can barely hear him.

“I won’t fight back I won’t I swear just take it I won’t I-I won’t--I won’t--”

“Bucky,” she whispers, cupping his cheeks in her hands and lifting up on the tips of her toes to press their foreheads together. “Hey. Hey, it’s me. You’re okay. It’s alright now.”

“N-Nat?” he says, his eyes fluttering open just a little, storm-blue glinting under wet lashes to meet her own. She’s shaking all over, will probably fall apart later, but she has to hold it together now, for Bucky. It’s what she’s always done. Sometimes all the glue she and Steve have used on him over the years just won’t hold him back together when the world gets a hold of him like this, like right now. 

“C’mon, beautiful,” she says softly, nuzzling his face and breathing slow and deep, trying to get him to match her when she hears the near-frantic pace of his breath when he comes back into himself. “They’re gone. Let’s get home. Let’s get to Steve.”

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky says, the word holding so much pain and devotion and anguish and fear and love that Natasha can’t help the tears that fill her eyes, can’t help how desperately she’s nodding as she peels her best friend off the brick.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s home from school. He doesn’t work tonight, remember? We’re ordering pizza tonight because he just got paid. Even got you pineapple, and you know how much he hates even _ordering_ it.”

Bucky strangles out a sound, one that’s impossible to decipher as one emotion or another, but Natasha takes it as a cue to keep talking as she wraps her arm around his waist and tugs his around her shoulders, trying to support them both as they head home.

They’re quiet for awhile, shuffling along slow as they are, and her chin is trembling as she thinks back over what happened, what happened to this sweet, broken boy of theirs just now when he’s been doing so good, when he’s been working and even talking to people and making a little money of his own to help out, to buy a book when he wants to, to buy little treats at the grocery store he knows either she or Steve will like. And now he’s like Bucky on the very worst days, a boy tucked into a shell that he’s gone to his whole life to survive, to stay safe when the world tries to break him. 

“You’re okay,” she says quietly, hating that she can’t keep her voice from shaking. She rubs his thin waist through his layers and rests her head against his shoulder, keeping them aimed slow but steady toward the apartment. “It’s done. You’re okay, Bucky Bear. You’re okay.”

“Steve,” he whispers.

 

Their apartment is on the seventh floor with no elevator, and by the time Natasha gets herself and Bucky to their doorstep, she’s sweating, rain-slicked, and panting. She knocks instead of fishing for her key, pressing her forehead to the door for a second of rest even as she pitches her voice low for Steve inside.

“It’s us,” she says.

There’s a series of small movements and then the door opens and there’s Steve, his hair sticking up in short spikes and tufts, scrubs still on, and dark circles under his eyes. He’s smiling, his eyes light and happy at the sight of them for a single second before he absorbs the scene in front of him.

Natasha watches the joy on his face slip into shaking fear so fast that it will haunt her for years.

“What happened?” he grounds out, tears standing in his eyes like they had been waiting in the wings. He reaches out for Bucky and Natasha lets Steve take him, almost falling over with relief when Bucky’s weight leaves her side, her aching arm.

Steve gathers him up like he’s made of spun glass, the touch somehow breathlessly delicate and steady as the earth itself at the same time. He tucks Bucky against him, one hand on the back of his damp, hooded head as he pulls Bucky’s face into the warm crook of his neck.

His eyes, bright with tears and a blue like no other, find Natasha again.

“Nat,” he pleads.

“I-I,” she starts, her hands shaking as she reaches up to rub her face clean of rain and probably some tears of her own, “I got off late, so I didn’t get to meet him for the walk home. And I h-heard… I heard--”

She cuts herself off as Steve walks back into the apartment with Bucky against him. She shuts the door and checks the locks three times out of habit before following them in, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch as Steve settles them down on it and starts to peel Bucky out of his wet hoodie.

“Go get some clean clothes from my drawer, and a washcloth and some warm water. And that fr-frozen corn in the freezer?” The professional calm of the future nurse in Steve fades away at the end when Bucky in just his long sleeved t-shirt wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and leans heavily against him, practically laying on him on the couch.

“Okay,” Natasha breathes, nodding as she stands still for just a couple of seconds before she’s off, gathering things up with a blessedly quiet mind. This isn’t new, this isn’t anything they haven’t done a hundred times before. The horror stories kept between the three of them could fill a library.

It’s just been so long since it was like this, this kind of violence, this kind of lifelessness in Bucky that she feels little all over again, feels young and useless and like the nightmare has found them again.

She doesn’t even realize she’s crying when she comes back to Steve with the supplies, holding them out to him like desperate offerings.

Steve looks up at her and his face crumples, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes get even bluer.

“Hey, hey,” he says, so soft, taking the things from Natasha’s hands and setting them on the coffee table before he reaches for her wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. C’mere, it’s okay.”

She sinks down on the couch beside them and leans into Steve, their rock, closing her eyes and accepting the kisses on her forehead and her wet cheeks, using them to fortify herself, to calm the fuck down.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve continues, unknowingly giving her the words she’d given to Bucky on the way home. “We’ve got this. Don’t we? We can take care of each other.”

She nods fervently, feeling Steve’s lips move on her temple as her chin trembles. Yes, they can take care of each other. They always have. It’s the only reason they’re all alive, all here right now.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“I’ll get him changed. You go put on some dry clothes, too. You’re shaking,” he tells her, pressing one last kiss to the top of her mohawked head before he lets her up, his hand warm along her spine as she stands up from the couch.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s not shaking from the cold, from the rain. He already knows.

She yanks on one of Steve’s t-shirts, pulling on her own pajama pants and padding back into the livingroom after drying her hair with a dirty towel. She brings a clean one with her and sets about drying Bucky’s dripping wet face as Steve helps him into some fresh clothes.

Bucky moves when they need him to, lifts his arms for the shirt and his hips to let Steve tug some sweatpants on him, but his face is smooth, blank, eyes staring straight ahead, blinking almost lazily.

Natasha considers for a very real moment going back out there and finding those guys again. Daydreams about sinking her knife into their throats and sawing away until their heads loll back on their necks, gore spraying out of them as their lives drain away.

It’s a clarifying thought, a strangely cathartic one, and she comes back into herself to find that she’s brushing Bucky’s hair, gathering it back into a curled little ponytail while Steve tends to Bucky’s busted mouth, checks his teeth and his gums and the inside of his lip, frowning the whole time, his face drawn, exhausted.

Steve and Natasha work in silence until they have Bucky bundled up and clean, bandaged up with antibiotic ointment with a covered frozen corn pack tucked up against his eye. Steve settles back into the corner of the couch with a sigh, finally turning his gaze on Natasha as Bucky falls asleep against him, resting on his solid chest, arms around Steve’s ridiculously trim waist.

“Tell me,” he says.

“These two guys,” she starts, trying to keep the shake out of her voice as she curls down to rest her cheek against the delicate curve of Bucky’s spine, one of her hands rubbing gentle at Bucky’s thin thigh while the other reaches up to cup the back of Steve’s neck, kneading it with firm, tired fingers, “they had him in an alley. One had him pinned to the wall and--”

Steve starts, body tensing under Natasha’s hand, making Bucky stir against his chest.

“D-Did they--oh God, Nat. Did they--”

“No, Stevie,” she rushes to say, lifting up to meet his eyes so he believes it, believes her. “No, it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that.”

Steve deflates then, both of his strong arms wrapping around Bucky, one of them gathering Natasha up in the process, and he squeezes so hard that it takes her breath. She closes her eyes and tucks into the warm nape of Bucky’s neck again, letting out a sigh.

“They just wanted money. They’d roughed him up a little and were holding him against the wall while they looked for it. Picked the wrong person for that, huh?” She smiles to herself as she hears Steve’s humorless huff of laughter. Bucky couldn’t have had more than ten dollars on him. “And I… I heard them. I just… I fuckin’ took off and I saw ‘em and I don’t really, um. I don’t remember what I did exactly, but they were bleeding and crying and I got him home. I just needed to get him home.”

One of Steve’s big hands comes up and cups the side of her face, spanning the whole thing and then some, his thumb stroking along her hairline. She relaxes into it, almost whimpering from the relief. Her arms slide around Bucky’s waist, wedging between his body and Steve’s to hug him, hold him.

“I’m glad you were there, Nat,” Steve says softly.

 

She wakes up in their bed.

The three of them share it most of the time, a big king-sized bed that was left in the apartment by the previous owners that sure beat out the full-sized one they’d crammed into in the last place. The bed takes up most of the one bedroom, and it’s nice and comfy with lots of thrift store quilts and blankets and all the pillows Bucky could find. 

They’ve been sharing one bed or another for most of their lives. It’s not weird, never has been. Sometimes Nat sleeps on the couch when she can tell they truly need time alone, but most of the time, she wakes up just like this:

Wrapped around Steve’s right side, her head tucked onto his broad chest. Bucky’s on his other side, mirroring her. Her and Bucky’s arms are around each other, holding Steve between them, hands gripping at each other’s clothes to hold on, to never let go. 

Steve learned to sleep on his back when they were little, so they could do exactly this. Natasha hasn’t ever been able to sleep more than a couple of hours any other way.

Sometimes she wonders what’s going to happen in the future, what it will take to tear them apart from each other, but she mostly doesn’t think about it. Can’t think about it.

She must stir somehow because Steve moves the slightest bit under her, shifting his body and giving both her and Bucky a slow squeeze. His nose is snuffling in her hair then, first breathing and then pressing a kiss.

She smiles and closes her eyes, relaxing back against him.

“You awake?” he asks.

She grunts and burrows into his armpit, making him laugh silently, shaking the two heads resting on his chest as he does. They quiet down and Natasha takes a deep breath that she lets out as a sigh. Steve waits her out, patient as he always is.

“How is he?” she finally asks.

Steve’s inhale is so deep that Natasha feels every bit of it as his chest expands. She listens to the steady thrum of his heart, comforted by his slow, careful exhale.

“Hasn’t said anything,” he finally says, his voice scratchy from sleep, quiet so as not to wake Bucky up. “He’s slept off and on. We watched TV for a little while when he couldn’t sleep. But he hasn’t--”

“Stevie,” comes Bucky’s voice on a sigh, not in a dream way but in a quiet plea. He stirs against Steve, tipping his pale, bandaged face up to slide his scratchy cheek against Steve’s smooth one.

He must’ve showered and shaved already this morning. Natasha wonders absently how she managed to sleep through it all. She tips her face up, moving back to rest on Steve’s arm instead of his chest so she can see them better, so she can watch them.

“Hey, Buck,” he replies, so soft, feathered over the sweet, perfect line of Bucky’s nose. Bucky makes a noise, one that Steve seems to understand because he tips his face down, his own nose catching on Bucky’s as their mouths ghost each other, foreheads pressing gently. “How’s my beautiful boy?”

“Feel like shit,” Bucky rasps, making Steve and Natasha both smile.

Natasha reaches up to tuck a fallen strand behind Bucky’s ear, her fingers trailing over his cheek and his jaw before sliding down to rub at his chest through his borrowed sweatshirt. Bucky warms to the attention, moving against Steve’s side to encourage it.

“Took today off,” Steve tells him, tells them both, eyes darting over to meet Natasha’s before looks back at Bucky. “Just gonna spend a quiet day home. Okay?”

“Never want you to leave,” Bucky says, digging his forehead harder against Steve’s, his chin trembling as he does. It makes Natasha’s throat tighten, makes her hand still over Bucky’s quick-beating heart and press there, gently, reassuring.

It would sound petulant coming from anyone else, childish maybe. But from Bucky it’s heartbreaking, it’s a voice to a fear he’s had since he was six years old, that he’s seen come true more times than any of them care to think about.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Steve tells him, his hands coming to life on Bucky’s body, one sliding down his back to cup the round curves of his ass, the other holding the back of Bucky’s head to keep his head up, his face where it is, his eyes on Steve so he can see the truth of the words. “We’re forever. Remember?”

“Tell me, Stevie,” Bucky says, his eyes shiny with tears before he closes them, digs his forehead hard against Steve’s. “Tell me again.”

“I’m yours, angel,” Steve says, the words shaking with conviction as Bucky moves against him, trying to get on top of him, to cover him. Natasha unwraps from around Steve and helps, tugging Bucky’s thigh until he’s straddling his boyfriend, his soulmate. She keeps her hand high on the back of his thigh and feels the muscles shift there as both of Steve’s hands slide down to Bucky’s ass, pulling him up tight in his lap, snug. “For always and forever. And I’m right here.”

“Need you,” Bucky whispers. Muscles tense hard under Natasha’s palm as he rocks against Steve, drawn in by those big hands in a move that makes them both gasp. Natasha sits up then, twisting around on the bed to grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand, the outside of it still slippery from the night before last. Steve takes it with a kiss to her slick fingers before turning to kiss Bucky with careful hunger on his broken mouth. 

Natasha shifts to sit up beside them, kneeling next to Steve’s shin and reaching up to find the waist of Bucky’s sweatpants under his shirt, dragging them down as far as she can while Steve’s hands come right back, slick with lube and gripping handfuls of Bucky’s soft, full cheeks.

She helps Bucky out of his sweatshirt while he feeds from Steve’s mouth, smiling at the annoyed little sound he makes when they have to stop kissing so she can get the shirt over his head. She smooths her hands down Bucky’s back, settling back next to Steve’s feet so she can watch them, watch the rim of Bucky’s asshole stretch out thin and pale with three of Steve’s massive fingers stuffed inside of him.

“He’s so pretty, Steve,” she tells him, her voice low with adoration and painful arousal. She says it just to hear their reactions, just to hear Steve’s moan into Bucky’s panting mouth, to watch those fingers sink all the way inside of Bucky, to watch the gorgeous way Bucky arches his back, glowing under the attention, from the love from just the two of them; from Natasha and most especially from Steve.

“Does he look ready, Nat?” Steve sounds fucked-out already, the words dragging deep from his chest. He pulls hard on Bucky’s hole before tugging his fingers out, letting Natasha see Bucky’s sweet little gape, the hint of his lovely pink insides and the slight puffiness from Steve’s insistent fingers.

“Ready for you, babe,” she says, her cunt pulsing hot as she shifts a little further up on the bed, trying to get between their bodies to get Steve’s sleep pants down. She finds that they’re already down, his cock out and in Bucky’s firm grip, the fat head of him slipping in and out of the ring he’s making with his fingers. Steve is flush-faced and breathing hard, his pupils blown but his eyes are on Bucky, staring deep into his eyes while Bucky jacks his cock.

She crawls up behind Bucky then, tugging her shirt off and yanking all the covers down and off the bed and settling between Steve’s sprawled thighs and pressing up against Bucky’s back.

“Want me to put it in?” Natasha whispers against Bucky’s ear, one of her hands sliding up under Bucky’s body to get at Steve’s cock, her fingers wrapping around it at the base while Bucky jacks the head. Bucky nods, back to being wordless but in the best way, and he’s shivering all over when Steve licks into his mouth. 

He releases his grip on Steve’s cock and wraps his arms around his neck, and Natasha lowers down to the bed so she can watch as she pulls Steve’s fat dick under Bucky’s body and lets it slide right up against his hole.

She teases them both because she loves it, they love it, letting the thick head catch on Bucky’s rim, almost pushing in but not quite. They both moan, moving together, Bucky’s ass tipping up to try and get at that dick while Steve pulses hot in her grip, leaking slick like crazy that coats her hand, makes her hold on him unbelievably wet. 

She doesn’t give them any warning, doesn’t hesitate as she tips Steve’s dick and it presses head-on to Bucky’s asshole, watching Bucky curl his hips down to take it immediately. She shivers when he swallows up every Coke-can thick inch, not stopping until Steve’s balls are smashed up against his tailbone.

Bucky sobs and Natasha swears she comes just like that, from that satisfied ache in him, from how fucking full he feels, how safe and taken care of and loved he feels. It shivers all through her, and she hurries to get back up and hug him from behind, trapping Bucky between both of their bodies, keeping him warm and contained as he starts to ride Steve’s dick, keeping it burrowed deep in his guts as he just rocks and rocks on it.

“Baby,” Steve grits out, his hand on Bucky’s sweat-slick back, knuckles dragging against Natasha’s nipples as he strokes Bucky’s spine. She wraps her arms around Bucky, kissing at the back of his flushed neck while she rubs his stomach that she swears feels swollen with cock.

They start to fuck then, tight, fiercely packed little thrusts that keep Steve mostly lodged where he is, Bucky’s tight internal muscles working his dick just as good as any woman could, better than any woman could. Natasha closes her eyes, her mouth slack and breathless against the top of Bucky’s spine, and she stays as quiet as she can so she can listen to them, hear them.

They fuck like it’s the last time, they always do; frantic and desperate and sweet and brutal, tears falling from two sets of blue eyes, their mouths connected every step of the way. Natasha listens to the little sounds of them: the whimpers and grunts from their mouths and chests, the wet suck of their sweaty stomachs pressed together, the churning, frothy fuck of Steve’s cock opening up Bucky’s insides, the amazing sounds Bucky’s body makes while Steve forces it open.

She presses up hard against Bucky’s arched back, against Steve’s hands that are now gripping his boy’s tight ass, her cunt pressed to Steve’s knuckles through her thin pajama pants. She grits her teeth and digs in desperately, her clit catching on the crook of one of his fingers and she holds on, begs Steve to stay right there while she fucks at it, pretending she’s got an equally big dick and she’s forcing her way up inside of Bucky next to Steve, like that one time when they got drunk and she dragged her strap-on out and they let her, Bucky let her--

“Oh, fuck,” she whispers against Bucky’s neck, his sweat and hair in her mouth and Steve’s fingers rubbing her now through her pants as she falls apart, flooding her little boy underwear as she throbs out an intense orgasm. 

She falls beside them on the bed as she shivers out the last echos of it, writhing there in a haze while they move next to her, Steve grabbing Bucky and hauling him up so they can turn over. He pushes Bucky down onto the bed next to Natasha, and Bucky sobs when Steve forces his way back into his tight body. Natasha looks over and watches as Bucky wraps his now bare legs around Steve, their clothes all off (Steve works fast, fueled by hunger) and Steve is pounding into Bucky so hard the bed’s moving under the force of it.

Bucky is crying like it hurts, begging like he wants it to stop but it’s all ecstasy, it’s all hurts-so-good and pleading with Steve for more, for deeper, for harder-harder-harder. Natasha turns onto her side, tucks her face into Bucky’s burning neck and sticks her hand down her pants, finding her swollen clit and moaning softly.

“He’s takin’ care of you, isn’t he?” she whispers against his ear, rubbing her clit hard, Steve’s sweat dripping all over her, over both of them as he moves brutally hard above them.

Bucky nods, sucks in a shaky breath as he reaches up for Steve again, dragging him down to press their faces together. Steve flattens out on him, between Bucky’s thighs, his powerful body moving in deep, digging curls as he ruts into him, Bucky’s guts making the most delicious sounds as he does.

Natasha kisses Bucky’s neck, up over his jaw, finds the place where their mouths are attached, where their tongues are warring, and she kisses there, too.

Steve grunts like an animal when he’s fucking, that sweet, gentle giant of a man turning into a ravenous beast once he’s inside of Bucky Barnes, and his cock is a weapon he uses to batter Bucky’s insides, pushing at them until they’re loose and submissive around him, fucked as pliant on the inside as Bucky is on the outside. 

He makes truly dangerous sounds when he comes, and the bed frame shudders like a threat under their weight when Steve locks in and floods Bucky’s body. Natasha comes again, comes with Steve like she usually does, imagining she’s got that dick and she’s breeding Bucky, too, filling him up nice and warm and calming him down better than any pill, than any breathing technique ever has. 

They kiss like their mouths are fucking, Steve growling low in his chest as he grinds out the last edges of his climax inside Bucky’s willing body. Natasha pulls her hand out of her pants, her soaked fingers sliding between their bodies, bypassing Bucky’s painfully hard cock to trace along his fuck-swollen rim that is creamy with slopped out come now.

She rubs Steve’s come into Bucky’s skin, into his taint, humming happily against Bucky’s cheek as she waits for instruction, for permission.

“Fuck him,” Steve says, so soft, sated. “Let’s make him come.”

Bucky whines, writhing between them just as Natasha sinks two fingers inside of him, right beside Steve’s still hard cock, knowing exactly where to go to find his prostate at the same time Steve wraps a hand around Bucky’s pink dick, holding it firmly in his massive grip.

Steve moves inside of Bucky, pushing his dick in and out of him even though it’s gotta hurt, churning all that come around in him, making Bucky squelch inside like a girl. Natasha kisses Bucky’s cheek, smiling there as she curls her fingers and massages at his now soft insides, pressing up firmly against his prostate to milk him.

He comes in a long, painful series of sobs, trapped between Steve and Natasha and at their mercy. Steve packs his cock in a little harder, making Bucky’s thighs shudder as he shakes apart under him, coming in thick gushes all over Steve’s hand. 

“Good boy,” Steve whispers against his mouth, smiling as Bucky gasps, his clear blue eyes open and trained on Steve. “There’s my love.”

“Stevie, _please_ ,” Bucky trembles out, tears sliding down his face that Natasha kisses away, takes into herself as she keeps at it on Bucky’s prostate, pulling out every drop he can give them.

They know Bucky’s empty when he collapses back on the bed like his strings have been cut, his asshole relaxing completely around Steve and Natasha. It just makes Natasha even hungrier, makes her want to fit more fingers in right beside Steve, makes her fantasize about how much Bucky could take when he’s like this, gaped out and so sweetly submissive under them, but that’s a daydream for later, for when she’s in the shower and her thoughts can get as dirty and forbidden as she wants.

Steve pulls out with a pained little noise, and Bucky only sighs when Steve moves down his body and cups his hips, tipping them up so he can get his mouth on Bucky’s hole. Natasha keeps her fingers there inside of him, fucking out the come Bucky is keeping deep inside of him where Steve left it so Steve can drink it down, get Bucky truly clean.

She cradles Bucky to her, lets him rest his face on her tits as she fingers him open for Steve for at least twenty minutes, rubbing at his puffy hole, stroking his hair away from his face while Steve feeds from him. She pulls her fingers out finally, holding them out so Steve can suck them clean before he moves up, licking up all the come they fucked out of Bucky’s now limp cock.

Bucky whimpers again, his belly sucking in hard while Steve licks up every drop, leaving spit in his wake that Natasha rubs in. She threads her fingers into Steve’s short hair, nails dragging over his scalp, and she tugs on him to pull him out of his near-obsessive worship of Bucky’s body to remind him that Bucky is there, fucked-out and awake under him, waiting for kisses, for the calm that follows.

They kiss again, Steve licking at the broken skin on Bucky’s lip, and Natasha reaches down to pull the blankets back up over their sweaty but chilly bodies, and they tangle up again in a much more relaxed pile, Bucky between them for awhile as they drift back to sleep, so close Natasha would swear on her life that their heartbeats match.

 

“You ready?” Natasha grabs her bag off the couch and turns to Bucky who’s zipping up his hoodie, fiddling with the headphones connected to the ancient iPod they got him years ago that he still uses every single day.

Bucky looks up at her, worry pulling at his face before it smooths out again. He smiles, small and almost shy. Nods.

He’d decided to go back to work, to not let what happened stop him from the progress he’d made. Natasha has never been more proud of him in her entire life.

“Yeah,” he finally says, walking toward her and lacing his fingerless-gloved hand with hers as they head out of the apartment.


End file.
